Dissolved Girl
by Jamaica
Summary: Alternate universe story. He's on a path to selfdestruction. Does he finish his walk? SS and slightly noncon.


**Author's Note:** Squaresoft owns character's name and physical appearances. This is completely AU so I own the plot and any other original characters/places/etc. Don't steal them! Massive Attack owns the song "Dissolved Girl". I heavily recommend you to listen to this song because it goes very well with the story. This is indeed a very dark and disturbing piece, although it's not very lemony, but brace yourselves!

* * *

**Pieces of Paper**

**"Dissolved Girl"**

_Shame, such a shame  
__I think I kind of lost myself again  
__Day, yesterday  
__Really should be leaving but I stay _

Hate.

As he put on the slick leather and the smoky liner there's only one prominent thought in his mind. The stench of such hatred soared out of his bones and into the blood with so much force he could barely stand straight. Everything seemed chalky within his vision.

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror. Now there's powder and black on his face he could muster enough courage to stare. Carefully tracing the lips with a delicate hand, he finished his last step to mask completion. His features looked sharper, prettier.

He cringed. Pretty. Not a word he wanted to hear associated with himself ever. Ever. EVER.

His father had used it.

Involuntary shudders racketed his frail body. Pain stabbed into his heart from his mind. His knuckles popped and turned white as he gripped the sink counter. He forced himself to calm down, to squash the memories.

It didn't work.

Images of the previous night rushed behind his eyeballs. The surprise visit from his dad. The suspicious and lingering touches. He figured something was wrong. It had been wrong ever since his mother left them six weeks ago, but never _this_ wrong. That was the first time his dad came into his bedroom after the departure and spoke to him.

Then it turned odd.

The oddity continued to ascend as he felt himself being pushed backwards onto his bed. Hands clawed at his clothing. Those frantic hands . . .

And then . . .

He didn't know what to do. This was his FATHER. He couldn't hit his own father, no matter what. So he just lay back and stared at the ceiling.

And took it . . .

_Say, say my name  
__I need a little love to ease the pain  
__It's easy to remember when it came_

His father disappeared as soon as he was done. It had already been an entire day. He really didn't care now whether his father lives or dies. Hoping for the latter than the former, to be frank about it.

He slipped the chain belts onto his slender hips, hooking the ends together. The racket that shook his body moments before vanished. He could stand erect again, without clutching deathly onto the shiny marble. He held his head high and looked defiantly at his reflection.

Not thinking of this tonight. Not going to.

That's not what tonight's for.

He slicked his hair back into perfection, clipped his spike bracelet in place onto his left wrist, then checked himself one last time in the cracked mirror. He had hit it earlier, turning the left corner into a web of twisted images with a few drops of dried blood embedded within the veins. He didn't bother bandaging his hands. The cuts scabbed nicely, and he was quite numb anyway.

He turned sharply on his heels out from the bathroom. He checked the pocket watch in his hidden breast pocket; it was nearly eleven o'clock. The perfect time to be out. He stepped down the stairs toward the front door. Grabbing the motorcycle keys and his shady trenchcoat, he got out of the house. The door slammed sharply in the dull breeze. The lock open.

He got on the bike and zoomed down the dark deserted street. The wind picked up with a mournful speed. The chill didn't faze him. In truth, he found it poetically fitting.

He heard the club before he saw it. The music wasn't loud, but the throbbing beat could be felt from miles away. One of the reasons why he loved the place. The amount of illegal substances floating around wasn't a bad stimulus, either, among other things.

He parked the motorcycle in an abandoned corner and locked it securely to a fencepost. Strutting to the door, he showed the bouncers his ID and paid the dues. One of the bouncers was checking him out in blatant view. He scoffed at the man. It was a frequent thing with him; he didn't know whether to thank the gene pool or to curse it to hell.

The thought immediately brought back images of his father. He shook his head violently, clearing away the filthy screens. Smoothing a hand through his hair, Squall entered the club with only one goal behind his eyes.

To forget.

'_Cause it feels like I've been  
__I've been here before  
__You are not my savior  
__But I still don't go_

His first destination once he entered the ground filled with music and dance and writhing people was the bar. He didn't want to get particularly drunk – that would not satisfy the need to feel, although feelings were usually heightened by intoxication. But he did want at least one drink in his stomach to quash that lurking urge to vomit for a short time.

He ordered a Tequila and sat down. Almost immediately he felt someone sliding down next to him and a hand on his left thigh. He looked over and didn't like what he saw. The boy wasn't jagged enough, built enough, whatever. He avoided idle conversation by finishing the drink in a few gulps and poignantly ignoring the other's presence. The next minute he was pushing past the dance floor toward one of the rooms upstairs, where the joints and crack and heroin stashes piled high in people's pockets. He needed some refreshment.

But before he had a chance to clear the floor, two large hands grabbed him from behind. His body was easily yanked away from the ground. He wanted to put up a struggle, and he certainly could perform adequately, but his heart wasn't in it. Good way to get things started in all cases, he thought. And with that, a half-smirk formed on his face.

He was dragged to the back of the club and promptly thrown against a wall. When he turned around he saw the bouncer from the front door, the one who had practically drooled over him. He nearly rolled his eyes. There was no way he could actually fight the guy without getting somewhat hurt, so he figured why waste the energy while his goal was to get trashed in the first place.

The bouncer had obviously expected him to react. Now as he stood there coolly staring into the lascivious man's eyes, his attacker was confused enough to not know what do to at the moment. Squall simply glared.

Suddenly another shadow washed over the two of them. Squall glanced over slightly; the figure was hidden from the light and was unimpressive besides the fact he was taller than the bouncer. The other man seemed to regard this as a fact also, for he backed away a step, subconsciously or not Squall couldn't tell. The figure hadn't moved, but one could see sharp eyes piercing into their space.

"Who are you?" The bouncer asked into the stillness.

The figure moved out of the shadow. He had slicked back blond hair and a fairly eye-catching earring on his right ear. His outfit was a track less showy than the usual costumes this nightclub routinely brings. The bouncer gave him a once over and immediately recognized him. Squall saw his faint tremors.

"Uh, oh . . . it's . . . _you_. I didn't realize -"

"Back to your post." The stranger said, cutting off the bouncer's rambling. The addressee nodded frantically, then dashed out the room in the calmest way possible. To save a few strands of dignity from running with the tail tucked low.

Squall blinked.

_Feels like something  
__That I've done before  
__I could fake it  
__But I still want more_

The figure turned his attention to the supposedly fresh save. As he gave Squall the usual once over, Squall discovered some of his gazes were lingered longer than necessary on all the obvious places. The finding sent an unexpected yet not unwelcomed shiver down Squall's spine. His breathing picked up.

"Want to get out of here?" The figure spoke.

"Why?" Naturally suspicious.

The figure scoffed, a bit taken aback. "You'd think someone would want to after _that_. Suit yourself, kid."

That stirred something. The name "kid". Before the figure could turn away Squall said quickly, "What's your name?"

"What's it to you?" The figure cocked his head.

"Nothing."

". . . Seifer."

As Seifer began to blend back into the darkness, Squall decided the drugs could wait. He liked Seifer's look. Besides, the offer seemed a bit racier than the offerer had intended it to be.

"Wait!" Squall called after the other.

"Heh," Seifer scoffed. "Changed your mind already?"

Squall said nothing but followed him out of a small side door.

The midnight air trailed after them as they strolled toward the still full parking lot. Squall could only assume that's where Seifer's car was parked. He was debating on whether to tell the blonde that his own bike was only a few blocks away, but decided against it. He had thrown it all to the damned anyways. What could a little spontaneity hurt?

"What's yours?"

It took a moment for Squall to realize Seifer was asking his name. He told him just that. The other chuckled.

"Interesting. And I thought mine was one in a million. 'Squall' – got character. So what's a pretty boy like you doing in there?"

"It's a club."

"Yes, I know that. I'm talking about back there with the buffoon. You weren't really willing, I could tell. Why didn't you try to get out?"

Squall gave him a look. The truth couldn't be told. "Where are we going?"

Seifer halted abruptly, but quickly recovered from the sudden change of topic. "My car."

"No, I meant _where_."

"Where do you live?"

The house was out of the question. He didn't want to see that house – that bedroom – again for a long while. He had no intention of returning to it ever since he left. "Your place." He said as if that's the most natural answer to give. Seifer blinked.

"You don't look that fucked up." Seifer examined his face as he unlocked the car. "What did you take?"

Squall really rolled his eyes this time. "Whatever." He immediately started to head back, but a hand on his right arm stopped him.

"Fine." The touch was spiked with some form of electricity. Squall didn't ignore it. "Get in."

_Fade, made to fade  
__Passion's overrated anyway  
__Say, say my name  
__I need a little love to ease the pain  
__It's easy to remember when it came_

The ride was unsurprisingly wordless. As Seifer pulled up under his apartment Squall had almost fallen asleep. The prevention of plummeting into a residual dream kept him awake enough to know the car's engine died.

He got out silently, following Seifer's footsteps into the door and toward the elevator. They rode to the third floor. Squall didn't bother looking at the expensive interior; he may have felt the lush green carpet under his feet, but other than that his mind wasn't paying attention. His chain belt clinked lightly as he trailed after the blonde. They stopped in front of a brown wooden door. Number 317.

"Dominique is probably still in." Seifer said as he unlocked the door. "Dom?"

"Seif?" A light tenor answered from the back. Soon, a brunet boy with spiked black hair emerged. His cat-green eyes glittered as they focused on the object of inquiry. "What're you doing back . . . oh, already?" He noticed Squall.

"Not what you think this time." Seifer explained. Dominique snickered. "It's not. Wait, don't you have to meet Celine right now?"

"Yeah, already trying to get rid of me. Uh-huh. I'm on my way, no hurry." Dominique smiled good-naturedly. "And don't break anything. I don't have the money to fix shit right now."

"Get outta here." Seifer waved his hand. "Like I need you to fix 'em anyway. It's not what you think." He repeated.

Dominique flicked his roommate off, then passed them to get his coat and keys. The other two made their way into the kitchen.

Silence renewed its vigor. The comfort brought by the interruption was gone. Squall stared at a void in the chilly air. Seifer's hands rested briefly on the back of a chair, then switched to the table, and back again.

"You want something to drink?" Seifer suddenly asked, breaking the glass of stillness.

Squall looked at him. An opportunity . . .

"Okay." Squall replied. Then he moved toward the refrigerator. "I don't need to be taken care of. Cups?"

Seifer, who began the motion of moving toward the cabinet, stopped. "Third cabinet. While you're at it, give me one, too."

Was going to do that anyway. Squall got two clear glasses and filled them both with water. It's too easy . . .

They both sat down around the kitchen table. Seifer didn't waste any time. "Good. _Now_ would you mind telling me why the hell were you in there being stupid?"

"I wasn't." Not a lie, exactly.

"Nice try." Seifer sipped a little on his water. "I'm not buying it."

Squall shrugged.

Seifer swore under his breath. "Fine. So why did you follow me here?"

Another shrug.

"We can sit here all night, goth doll. I got more than enough time. Since you're the one insisted on following me home, and I know better than throw you onto the streets, you at least owe me an explanation why the fuck do you want to come here in the first place."

"Seemed like a good idea," And it was.

Seifer scoffed. "Don't tell me you trust strangers like this all the time. How do you know if I'm not going to drive you straight to the police station or off a cliff?"

"It doesn't matter." And he frankly wouldn't give a damn if any of the scenarios happened.

"Of course it does!" Seifer slammed down the cup and stood up. "What –" he caught his breath. "I'll let you stay for tonight. Tomorrow you're hitting the rocks."

Squall stood up, staring into Seifer's slightly enraged but a bit off jade green eyes. He picked up his water and downed it in one gulp. Then he walked out of the kitchen.

"Where're you going? If you think you're sleeping somewhere other than the couch you're mista –" Seifer's statement dropped off abruptly. It seemed as if the blond had given up yelling at the inevitable, but Squall knew better. The sound of a hand slapping the counter to keep balance was too audible in the empty rooms.

Squall smirked.

_'Cause it feels like I've been  
__I've been here before  
__You are not my savior  
__But I still don't go, oh_

He was surprised at the size of the bedroom. The apartment was bigger than he had expected. The sheets looked comfortable. The floor, too.

"Get out of there!" Seifer's hands dropped on his shoulder.

Squall turned around slowly, letting Seifer's hands fully experience the contortion of his muscles. "This isn't your room, is it? It's your roommate's – Dom's."

"It doesn't matter. Your place is the couch, you punk." Seifer grabbed Squall's arm in attempt to remove him physically from the entrance of the room to the hallway. However, he either misjudged his own strength or Squall had expected less force. The slim brunet slid away from the thick carpet and landed squarely on Seifer's chest. They stumbled against one another, a tangle of limbs losing balance against gravity. They fell directly across the curving hallway and into Seifer's own bedchamber.

"The fuck . . ." Seifer cursed loudly. He started to push Squall off of his chest, but paused suddenly, his eyes glued to the bleak blue eyes above him. Squall smiled inwardly, feeling the heat of Seifer's body radiating into his own skin. He could almost hear the heart pumping blood hard and fast through the veins, and the quickened breathing seemed to mist the air shared between the two. Moments passed, everything liquefied in its slow haze.

Seifer's until then idle hands gained a life of their own. They traveled down the length of the leather-clad body, lingering on the firm buttocks and crawling under the shirt, tasting skin. The blonde frowned slightly, as if puzzling out certain aspects of humanity in the mere seconds slipping by. Squall lay there, letting Seifer take completely control as the blond turned both of them over and Squall's backbone connected with the carpeted floor underneath.

He felt the blonde's breathing had deepened to the point of asthmatic stroke. Knees nudged his own legs apart, and the faintly frantic hands rubbed against his torso. As Seifer's nose touched the tender skin of Squall's neck, and teeth met flesh, Squall knew it's time to retaliate. He bucked up, intentionally ramming straight into Seifer's bulging erection. Squall's own hands struck against the blonde, pushing him off of himself and rolling up to his feet.

Squall was almost out the door into the hallway again before he felt two strong hands latched onto his slender hips and half-dragged, half-lifted his body from the ground and swung across the room onto a bed. The spring below squeaked in protest. Swift hands tore at his jacket, his shirt, his belts. The watch flew out of the pocket in the frenzy and landed on the floor beneath the bed. A glint of gold in the devouring shadows.

Of course he didn't lie there waiting to be eaten. Squall fought back, learning not for the first time how wonderful the spiked bracelet could function. It once caught Seifer straight across the face, leaving a three-inch long mark. Seifer couldn't find a chance to unbuckle the nuisance, therefore he resorted to holding down both of Squall's hands with one of his hands and using the other to continue stripping the layers of fabric between their bodies.

The effort wasn't wasted. It wasn't long before both men were wrestling in the nude on the queen-sized bed. Seifer finally, as a last act, unclipped the spike bracelet and dropped it on the bedside table. He landed heavily on top of Squall, hindering the younger man's movements with his stronger limbs. The mattress groaned dangerously. They ceased the struggling for a brief moment, both panting like mad with eyes locked into each other.

Seifer leaned down and kissed Squall fully on the mouth. A hot tongue invaded the shared inner space, dominating the contest. Squall moaned, shifting his hips to get out of the weight. This only caused their erections to grind together, inciting both of them even more. Seifer grunted.

A vague flash of images flooded Squall's eyelids just before Seifer entered him raw. He gasped loudly as he felt the tearing restart, yet thankful for the bliss of returning darkness instead of the camera sequence waiting to be played. Pleasure and pain soared through his nerves, wrecking them in lightning speed. His nails scratched down Seifer's back, ripping through the tensed muscle, leaving marks of remembrance. Seifer's breathes echoed in his eardrums. Scars were reopened under the pressure, and fresh blood was drawn. He felt the other tasting his fair flesh, licking the salt off his jugular. He closed his eyes, half-delirious, half-reveling in the much-waited ecstasy.

No pictures.

_It feel like something  
__That I've done before  
__I could fake it  
__But I still want more_

It wasn't until the heat bubble surrounding the two men had cooled down to join the rest of the room's temperature, until the front door slammed indicating the return of Dominique, until Seifer's breathing had turned even under the sheets, and he himself was drowsing in the deep of the night did the memories come back. A bit blurred but still vicious enough to tear holes in his heart and mind, his father's face etched across the empty space in front of his eyes. Squall tried to shut down the returning shudders. Forcing his eyes open and the nausea down, he involuntarily grabbed onto Seifer's arm by his side.

"Bad past?" The blonde wasn't asleep.

Squall didn't move.

"It's keeping me up." Seifer turned. "You know, if you want to get raped that badly you don't need to slip drugs into generous bystander's drinks. You could just walk around downtown at this hour."

The room gaped.

Seifer sighed. Then he turned away from Squall's motionless form, leaving the matter alone for the remainder of the night. The only sound piercing through the thick fog of silence was the ever-lasting tick of Squall's pocket watch, still persistent and timeless beneath the bed.

A single tear fell from Squall's left eye corner. It slipped quietly onto the pillow, leaving a glittering trail down his pale cheeks.

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End file.
